


Dinosaur Nuggets

by Batsymomma11



Series: The Details of Being A Dad [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batdad, Batfamily Feels, Bittersweet, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dino-Nuggets, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hugs, Kiddos Growing Up, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, snuggles, the struggle is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce is having a hard time with the fact that all his boys are grown up. And that they did it without him noticing.





	Dinosaur Nuggets

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a meme I saw on Instagram. Happy Thanksgiving! Stay safe over the long weekend and thanks for all the love guys. 
> 
> I do not own DC or its characters. I do own the story.  
> Thanks and enjoy!

               Bruce knew his children were growing up.

                Or rather, had grown up.

                But still, there were some things he’d thought would never change. There were some instances, he’d expected to remain unmoved by the grind of years. And it wasn’t as though Bruce was resistant to change in particular, but he couldn’t say he was particularly fond of it. So, when Jason was standing in his kitchen with a sour look on his face, staring into the freezer like it had personally offended him, Bruce wasn’t expecting him to say what he did.

                Or, for it to hit him like a ton of bricks.

                “Bruce, can you please stop buying the dino-nuggets? I mean, we’re all adults now. Seriously?”

                Bruce blinked at Jason, then stared blankly at the all-white meat nuggets he’d drawn out of the of the freezer and was showing for inspection. He’d been buying that brand and those shape of chicken nuggets for a decade. Maybe longer. Time was often irrelevant when you were a parent by day and a vigilante by night. He lost track of it frequently.

                “I thought you liked those.”

                It shouldn’t feel like a personal affront to his abilities as a parent that he’d bought the wrong goddamn nuggets. It shouldn’t feel like someone was sitting on his chest all of the sudden.

                “Yeah, maybe when I was ten. Jeez, old man.”

                Bruce didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing for a moment.

                “I like them. So, does Tim.” Dick smiled, stepping around Jason to dig into the pantry. He brought a box of Lucky Charms with him. Then moved to the bar to crunch noisily on them directly out of the box. 

                It was a comfort to know that much hadn’t changed.

                “If it bothers you, I won’t buy them again.”

                Jason lifted a brow, “Good. Thanks.”

                Bruce dipped his head, side-stepped his second oldest then went to the coffee pot for something to do with his hands. He wasn’t really in the mood for another cup of coffee. In fact, he’d come downstairs from a few hours of cramped work over his laptop to toss those childish nuggets into the oven for lunch. It had become second nature to feed the boys silly adolescent food like dino-nuggets and Lucky Charms.

                But they were older. They’d grown up.

                He’d just not always been paying attention.

                Bruce spent the remainder of the day with that little prickly thought in the back of his mind like a sand burr beneath his skin. It itched, it bothered, and annoyed until he found himself meandering away from his work back towards the kitchen to stare blankly into the freezer.

                That’s where Tim found him. Staring at the nuggets in a cloud of ethereal fog drifting from the frozen cavity.

                “Bruce? You alright?”

                Bruce closed the freezer then turned to frown at his son. “Do you like dino-nuggets?”

                Tim’s brow scrunched, “I guess. I don’t really care.”

                “What about Pop-tarts? Or Captain Crunch?”

                “Not always the healthiest options, but who am I to judge. Where is all this going?”

                Bruce shuffled over to the counter and found himself gripping the granite by the sink. It felt like he needed to steady himself. Like he’d lost his equilibrium, and everything was tipping. “If you had to change things about the house or what we buy or how we do it, would you?”

                Tim opened his mouth to answer, like he wasn’t sure what Bruce really wanted then grew thoughtful. A moment later, he shook his head, “No.”

                “No?”

                “No. I like everything the way it is.”

                “You’d amend nothing? Have me change nothing?”

                “Like what?”

                Bruce shrugged, “I don’t know. What about game night? We always play Twister. That’s an old one. A bit adolescent.”

                Tim smirked, “Yeah, I guess we could switch it out for Monopoly. Damian would be happy about that. But Dick would throw a fit. He always wins in Twister.”

                “And the nightlights in the hallway upstairs. I could get rid of them. None of you really need them anymore.” 

                “I suppose that’s true. Still, they can be useful.”

                “But that isn’t why I bought them originally. They were to comfort you boys. When you were smaller. Now you aren’t.”

                Tim’s brows scrunched. “True. Bruce, why is this stuff suddenly bothering you?”

                “It’s not.”

                It was. It all was. So many things, Bruce had left exactly as they were. And it wasn’t all because he was oblivious to the fact that his boys really didn’t need nightlights or superhero sheets or night checks after they were sleeping. It was more because he’d not wanted to see it.

                He’d been living in denial without even realizing it.

                “Thank you, Tim.”

                “You’re welcome?” Tim looked confused. Bruce resisted the urge to brush a kiss to his forehead when he left the kitchen. Tim was a twenty-one-year old man. He needed to remember that.

 

               

 

                It happened again two days later when Damian was sitting at the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water, drinking a Capri-Sun. The sight was a familiar one, but this time, Bruce saw the differences that he should have noticed long before then.

                Damian was eighteen. And he looked like he was going on twenty-five at the very least. Tall and bulked up in thickly hewn muscle, his son was the slightly larger version of himself at that age. He was more than adult enough to have a proper drink and not some child’s juice box.

                The sight of the pool toys in Bruce’s periphery seemed to mock him. Pool noodles and blow-up animals and water guns. All toys that belonged to little boys and teenagers. That belonged to boys that no longer even really played with them. All bleached out by the sun and left to gather cobwebs by the edge of a pool in a bin.

                Bruce felt a little like someone had punched him in the stomach.  

                “Hello, Father,” Damian murmured around the straw, not bothering to look up as he swished his ankles in the water. The sunlight was fierce this time of day and stifling on their skin. Bruce would’ve enjoyed the cool water of the pool. Now, maybe he’d rather go lie down for a while and nurse the unsteady feeling in his chest.  

                “Hello, son. Going to swim?”

                Damian smiled lazily, “Maybe. The sun feels good.”

                “It does.” It was on the tip of Bruce’s tongue to ask if Damian had bothered to put sunscreen on. Granted, Damian’s skin was much darker than Bruce’s, courtesy of his mother’s heritage. But still, UV damage could affect anyone. It would be irresponsible to not use proper coverage.

And it would be absolutely like him to forget again that his son was a full-grown man who could get a sunburn if he wanted to. Parental supervision would be more than unwelcome. It would be ridiculous.  

                Damian wasn’t a child. Damian was an adult.

                _Damian was his baby_. The errant little thought was one that had no business eking into his thoughts. Grinding under his ribs.   

                An image of rounded cheeks and wide jade eyes made Bruce’s hands curl into fists as he thought of all the hugs and the smell of children’s shampoo in hair that was soft and young. Like a floodgate opening, Bruce was helpless against the bombardment of memories and their associated feelings. Of the way Dick used to creep into his bed early in the morning and cop a snuggle. The way Tim would steal the comics section out of the Sunday newspaper and there would always be a knock-down drag out fight over it. The way Damian had been so angry and feral, until he’d been sleepy and then he’d curl up tight beneath Bruce’s chin and hum in his sleep. Or how Jason would get Bruce coffee in the morning and for a solid month, tried to drink his coffee black too, just to be like Bruce. Or how—

                “Father?”

                “Hmm?”

                “Are you alright?”

                Bruce blinked, struggling all of the sudden to clear his throat of the frog that wanted to settle in. “Yes, of course. So, you know, I’ve told Alfred not to get those Capri-Sun drinks again. I’ll have him get Powerade or—something.”

                Damian looked at Bruce like he’d grown a second head. “Alright.”

                “And I’ll get different sunscreen too. I noticed I still buy the kiddie kind with the ridiculously high SPF.”

                Damian scowled now, “What is this about?”

                “It’s just time for a few changes. I should have made them sooner. You boys are grown up. Maybe it’s time I acted like it.”

                “That is true. But drinks and sunscreen hardly matter. Do they?”

                Bruce swallowed thickly, looking down at his bare feet where they were pressed into the rough cement, “Don’t they?”

                Damian shrugged, “It doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other.”

                Bruce nodded.

                But he still bought different sunscreen. And Alfred only hummed when he requested they buy different drinks for the boys as well. It felt like a step in the right direction towards acceptance of what was, rather than what he wanted it to be.

               

               

                 Bruce woke abruptly when the bed dipped, and someone crawled quietly beneath his sheets.

                 There were long, muscled arms beside him, and warm skin. Flannel pajama pants, bare feet brushing against his own and then a soft humming noise that immediately gave the culprit away.

                 Damian.

                 Bruce held his breath for a solid minute to listen to his youngest breathe. The sounds were familiar and like a balm he’d not known he needed. Soft lilting noises that meant life and that meant love. A love that was so specific and so potent to who Bruce was as a person, he could feel the burn of tears pricking the back of his eyes as he let the feeling overwhelm him.

                He was a father. He loved being the Bat. It was as much a part of him as breathing. But Bruce adored being a father. He loved it the most.

                Bruce didn’t dare move. It had been so very long since someone had snuck into bed with him. His bed was the place where bad dreams could be remedied, or sick snuggles could be stolen, but no one had made use of it in quite some time. In fact, Bruce had thought his days of burrowing in the dark might have passed. He didn’t realize how badly that had upset him, until he was now a hairsbreadth away from Damian.

               “Father?”

               The whisper was soft, a breath rushing over skin. “Yes?”

               “Do you mind?”

                It took a moment for Bruce to realize what Damian was asking. Because it was dark, he couldn’t see his son’s face and the inflections he might have picked up, were absent. So, Bruce was surprised when those big arms were wrapping around his waist and Damian was pressing into him tightly. He was surprised when his throat slammed closed and he had to choke on an embarrassing shaky breath, because he had the absurd urge to cry. Because despite the size and the look of his youngest son, Damian still smelled the same.

                Like Bergamot and Egyptian oils. Something very much reminiscent of his days with the League of Assassins that had clung and never left. Damian’s hair still _felt_ the same, under his chin, tickling his neck. Warm breaths puffing into his t-shirt complete the illusion of childhood. But is was a very good one.

               “Am I too old for this, Father?”

                It brought a fiery needle to Bruce’s chest to hear the uncertainty. To know that he might have inadvertently caused that worry with all of his own worries over treating his sons like they were children.

                Bruce snorted, aware it came out watery. “No.”

                A pause, a tightening of arms, and a snuffle in his neck. Damian’s body slowly loosened and drifted towards sleep. When he next spoke, it sounded drugged.

                “Good.”

                Bruce laid awake as long as he could. He tried to soak in the minutes. To savor and cement the memory of his son still clinging to him, despite the fact that he was no longer a child. But after a time, he fell asleep too.

                When he woke up, Damian was still there. And it made Bruce smile.


End file.
